Nathan (my oldest son) and I had attended a wedding shower for my younger son and his fiancée. When the festivities ended, the four of us drove to a restaurant: Mama Maria's Italian Grill.
Nestled in a booth in a corner all its own, I felt a world away from the other patrons. We ordered dinner and the discussion began.
Nathan grilled Courtney about her likes and dislikes. It was all wedding talk. Reception planning. At twenty-one years of age, he spoke with authority. Able to hone in on details I tend to float beyond.
Across the table, my other child listened with appreciation. He could care less about center pieces and shades of tulle. But he valued his brother's ability to help his future bride verbalize her vision for the celebration.
They were both grown up. Very grown up.
And then it hit me. The day. The date. The time. Even the family huddle.
Seventeen years before on that very same day and time, we'd huddled around the light blue recliner their daddy sat in to say our nightly prayers. We held hands. Sang songs with motions. And ended the day with our hearts towards heaven.
And that's when it happened. That's when our daddy's breathing changed for the last time and his body began to shut down in earnest.
Someone put the boys down while I called the doctor. Jason refused a trip to the hospital, so a neurologist agreed to let his sister (a nurse) drive to Emory and pick up morphine she could administer at home.
The next twenty four hours passed in a blur. I slept some. Read scripture over his frail body. Sang all the worship songs I could remember. Walked the streets with my parents. Visited with friends as they stopped by. And finally, around 7 pm, looked at one couple and blurted, "Either he's about to be raised up off that bed or I have nothing to worry about."
Confident, relieved, and ready, I went back to the sofa fold out bed where his body laid and nestled beside his tired frame. As I prayed, I felt as if his arms wrapped around me and the God of heaven came close. After relishing the peace for over ten minutes, a relative said, "I think he just took his last breath."
God had waited till I was ready and then took him in a way that left me assured that something supernatural had occurred in that living room. My husband had been set free. Heaven was real.
Tears slid down my cheeks just ten days ago, as I sat in that booth, struggling to explain the emotion that overflowed. We've just been through a lot. The journey hasn't been easy. But God kept his word. He has taken care of us every step of the way. And as we planned Sam's wedding that night, I felt a release I didn't even know I needed.
Our lives will most certainly be interrupted by more heartache and challenge as the years roll by. But right there in Mama Maria's Italian Grill, I breathed easier and left in awe of the God I trust.
"Praise our God, all peoples, let the sound of his praise be heard; he has preserved our lives and kept our feet from slipping. For you, God, tested us; you refined us like silver. You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let people ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance." (Ps. 66: 8 - 12)
Our family six months before he died:
And an upbeat version of the song I wrote a few months before Jason died and sang to close his memorial service.
Because He did it. God carried us through.
Thank you for sharing, Susan.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading!!
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